The Truth About Blackholes
by Frigg Song
Summary: 'And here she thought Sirius Black was beginning to show signs of intelligence. Nope, guess not.' SB/OC Marauders Fic and all that implies...
1. Fallen

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to anything recognizable from Harry Potter.

**Note:** This is a Harry Potter story with a Stardust inspired character entrance. Does that make since?

Reviews would be lovely!

Prolog: Fallen

_My dearest friend,_

_I fear that Voldemort's ever-spreading evil has finally reached the Heavens, sending the Stars into a state of unrest. Many have already begun to show their true colors, choosing to side with the enemy despite our years of steadfast non-partiality. War is coming._

_It has been brought to my attention that Vega and Antares have amassed an army of unparallel magnitude. Their goal is to expunge those not willing to join Voldemort's forces and in due time overthrow my reign as North Star._

_I must think of my people first and foremost. And so it is with a heavy heart that I send you my most precious gift. The one thing in both heaven and earth that can be used against me despite the everlasting joy she brings._

_I apologize for the abruptness of my decision, but I knew you of all people would understand the need for necessary sacrifice in these dark times._

_Her name is Alcyone. I beg of you, take care of her, Albus. Love her as you would if she were your own flesh and blood._

_Eternally Grateful,_

_Polaris _

Albus folded the scorched parchment, tucking it into his sleeves with a sad smile; his twinkling blue eyes flickering to the bassinet rocking in smooth crests with the help of magic on his desk. Within, hidden beneath layers of silk and cashmere, and glowing with the quintessential light typical of every fallen Star, slept a babe. Her soft snores kissing the air with each exhale of innocent naivety.

The Headmaster stepped softly across his wooden floors, the firelight casting pulsating shadows upon the parlor walls. Cradling her head with one hand of spidery fingers, and curling the other arm around the bulk of the bundle, Albus Dumbledore lifted his new charge into his welcoming embrace. He chuckled gently as her chubby face scrunched in a charming lethargic demur.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Alcyone."

* * *

**A/N:** Like it? Hate it?

Review if you'd like to read more!


	2. Landed

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of J.K. Rowlings wonderful world of Harry Potter...dang it...

**Note: **I realize that it has been quite a while, two years, that I've even looked at the notes I've written for this story in my journal. So long I've been with out inspiration. But then I sat down, re-read Harry Potter for the Up-teenth time, and decided to give this thing a serious try. So here's to taking a chance and hoping you all will join me on it. Also I want to say thanks to those of you who reviewed the first chapter all those many months ago...

Chapter One:

_ A Compendium of Astrological Beings for the Witch or Wizard with Interplanetary Space Inquiries_

_By Branwhit Sidusmere_

_Chapter One: The Emergence of Elegance_

* * *

_To quote one Prinny Sabell, Head of Luminary Research at the Ministry of Magic and Delegate to the Stars; _

_'Upon Earth there is no such equal as to the beauty and grace that encompasses these Celestial Beings. From the moment they breathe life to the moment they fade from it; grandeur, poise and refinement are just a few words that skim surface of their faultless ambience.' _

* * *

"You broke it! You broke the bloody baby!" Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington accused, cursing in a rare fit of pique. His ghostly cheeks flushed a lighter pale in the torchlight. He was once a gallant knight of the realm, protector of chivalric ideals. Before he could shave, he had single-handedly saved the lives of not one, but _two_ Elvish princesses from a displaced Peruvian Vipertooth haunting their wood. By thirty he'd rubbed elbows with the highest aristocracy, and wooed the most beautiful of women; he had once even been bestowed the honor of touching the Queen Mother's hand for Merlin's beard! And now...After a lifetime of rougish adventures and ballad-worthy heroics, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington was facing his greatest challenge.

Babysitting.

"What baby?" The Bloody Baron shouted back straining to be overheard. He wildly gestured to the magically rocking crib in the center of the room, from within the folds of soft linen came an unholy shrill that shook the very chamber windows. The tip of the Barons sword arched terribly close to the Fat Friars head making the Hufflepuff ghost drop to narrowly avoid the rather unpleasant sensation of temporary decapitation.

"All I see," The Baron continued, his eyes shimmering with mortification, "Is a _Mandrake_ in need of a good plotting! PEEVES!"

"Mandrake or no, Sir Dumbledore left her in our care for the moment." Nick scratched at the jagged slash stretching the length of his neck save for the small sliver of gauzy skin the executioner left behind despite 45 wacks with a dull ax. "I can't imagine him being too cheery were he to return and realize we _planted_ the child."

"That is no child,-" The Slytherin House ghost winced as the babe's screaming lifted to new heights in pitch, "That is a banshee! PEEVES, COME HERE!"

"Your infernal shouting is not helping." A nearby portrait tossed in to the quickly escalating fray.

"And here I thought portraits were only good at spouting inconsequential tripe." The Baron snapped in return. Stiffening with an offended 'Hurmph,' the painted visage of Grimus Talbathe, made famous for his extensive research into Centaur-lore, stood and marched out of his frame, presumably to join the portrait of the wizards playing cards down in the Entrance Hall.

"Perhaps we should wait for the Grey Lady." The Friar volunteered suppressing the urge to cover his ears, knowing it would do him no good in his current apparitional state. Instead he laced his fingers in front of his soft, protruding belly. "You know women have an instinctual way with these-" He trailed off at another scream from the cradle, "-things..."

"Well, she's taking her bloody ti-"

The Baron swallowed his mumblings when the silvery lithe form of The Grey Lady drifted through the wall next to the open door. She seemed unfazed as she took in the Room of Requirements new decor. Dark blue wall-paper magicked with sweeping trendles of shimmering stars and galaxies swirled around the nursery.

The ceiling was a kaleidoscope of constellations, some more prominent than others; Leo ran around playfully batting at comets, Pegasus circled the wall torches, attracted to the light but not getting so close as to singe his wings. Orion in particular was doing his best to fashion a pair of head muffs out of a couple nearby dwarve-stars for his abused ears. And the final decorations - much to the dismay of the Bloody Baron- stuffed magical creatures of every sort, most of them nauseatingly fluffy, seemed to cover every open space that wasn't already piled high with diapers, wipies, hankies, things that squeaked and other things too puzzling to name.

"Alright," Helena started with a calm collectiveness that directly countered the atmosphere of the room. "Let me get this straight. Dumbledore has left the castle to visit the Ministry taking the Gamekeeper, and McGonagall with him. Meanwhile, the rest of the teachers are out at Hogsmeade relishing their last weekend before the start of term." The Ravenclaw ghost looked towards the Friar for his affirmative nod. "And in doing so, Dumbledore saw fit to entrust the care of this young one to you three."

Another nod was her answer. She cocked her head to the side in an act much like her house animal counterpart.

"So, what appears to be the problem exactly?"

Her three male ghostly companions locked glances before gazing upon her in what appeared to be stupifaction.

"What's the _problem_?" The Baron sputtered his hands going to his hips. "Last I checked, my dear, we're dead not deaf. The _problem_ is that, that," He tilted his single-plumed headgear towards the crib. "Plague upon the senses does not come with a volume adjustment."

"Naturally." The Grey Lady waved away the absurd notion with a flick of her wrist. "I've never heard of a being, magical or otherwise, that came complete with that particular anatomical feature."

"So then, milady," Nicholas cut in with a chivalrous bow, "What do you presume we do to quell this little," He paused with a grimace, "Song bird."

The feminine spectral ruminated for a moment, the frayed edges of her silky dress sank through the stone floors as she approached the wailing cradle.

"It has been a long while since a biped entered these halls at such a tender age. I seem to have forgotten the... fundamentals of her ilk. Mayhap the library has a book on this, I shall return." She proceeded to sink completely out of sight, leaving the poor ghosts back where they started.

Three pairs of eyes met in a what was decidedly the most anguished daze. But before panic could weave's its spell, a glimmer of hope manifested itself in the most unusual form.

A bawdy, off-pitched melody spilling from the twisted lips of the resident Poltergeist.

_"Oh Bertha Sweet Bertha_

_With lush plumpy hips"_

Peeves' voice grew louder, and more off key, as he continued to glide down the corridor. _  
_

_"Makes a wonderful sigh_

_With my hands on her ti-"_

"PEEVES!"_  
_

The Friar lunged for the crib, his hands diving into the linen to cover his innocent charges ears. Not only did the Hufflepuff ghost fail to properly muffle the words (he is dead after all), but upon feeling the rush of unnerving cold against her face, the Star screamed with renewed vigor.

A pair of plate sized eyes cautiously peeked around the empty doorway.

"You _roared_ for me your Bloodiness?" Peeves spoke with a mixture of fear and reverence towards the Slytherin spectral.

"Many times." The Baron bit out resisting the urge to rub his forehead. "Where have you been?"

Peeves jumped fully into the threshold, his back erect, shoulders squared, heels clicked together as he saluted. "Hunting my Liege!" He motioned to the battle regalia he dawned for the occasion, complete with a multitude of medals constructed out of an assortment of shiny objects most likely procured illegally from past students. The Baron leaned forward, his eyes fixating on a rather large medallion.

"Is that" He leaned even closer, his gaze squinting. "Is that an _eye_?"

Peeves simply gave one of his more-than-less insane smiles as his unspoken answer.

"Dare I ask what your prey is?" Nicolas coughed from the corner.

"Cat." The Poltergeist's face molded as though he bit into an acid pop. "Flilthy Fletchy Filch's kitty doesn't want to play though."

Before the Gryffindor ghost could reply, the crib, once again, erupted in a shrill peal. Instead of horror, Peeves' eyes sparkled with interest. He floated over to the lacy bassinet and thrust his head over the opening with a sniff.

The Grey Lady choose that moment to sweep through the door, a thick tome floating in behind her.

"I've discovered something that might be of help." She stated looking rather pleased with herself. "Luckily, with a bit of coercion, this edition was kind enough to leave the safety of the stacks for a short time." With a wave of her hand the book landed on a changing table and opened. The Fat Friar read aloud the words curling across the page in spidery script.

_ A Compendium of Astrological Beings for the Witch or Wizard with Interplanetary Space Inquiries_

"A windy title if I've ever head one." He finished with a huff.

"I couldn't care less about a title," The Baron dismissed, "Where are the instructions on how to turn it off?" He pushed the Friar aside and began flipping through page after page.

"_She_ is not some SneakoScope you can turn off and on at will." Nicolas sighed, with a hint of regret.

"Will you listen to this tripe?" His Bloodiness groused.

"_Though not oft seen, it is said that the offspring of these wondrous creatures are the very embodiment of innocence and purity of spirit. Much like the Unicorn found here on Earth, and to whom these Celestial beings share a deep magical bond, Star babes or Dao, harbor within themselves the instinctual elegance born and bred from generations of perfection. Their quiet nature-"_

The Baron cut off his diatribe with a snort. "Quiet nature? Can you believe this rubbish? That _thing _is a far from quiet-natured as a troll is to a Veela_. _Why she's-_"_

"Quiet." Nicolas stated.

_"_Wh-" The Friar clapped a hand over the Baron's mouth, muffling the incredulous screech.

"Shhh, Listen."

_"_I don't hear anything." The Grey Lady observed.

_"_Exactly." Sir Nick breathed in relief, closing his eyes and enjoying the silence. The moment was short lived when he remembered the presence of certain Poltergeist last hovering over the crib. With a sinking unease, the ghostly quadlet turned back to the cradle, the Friar's hand still firmly planted over the Barons lower face -which after a few moments was smacked away-.

They observed Peeves as he circled and rolled above the crib in jerky twirls, his voice a subdued cackle.

_"She's loud and she smells_

_And ugly too boot,"_

The four house ghosts floated over to the cradle, looking down in fascination as a pair of teary, luminous, eyes gazed up adoringly at the singing blur of Peeves. The Star let out a squeal of delight when the Poltergeist dipped low, his face swooping mere inches away from brushing her chubby cheeks. In his hands he dangled a handful of 'medals' he'd ripped off his 'uniform,' the jingling report of bottlecaps tinkling together sent her into another fit of cherubic giggles.

_"Poor Mimsy and Fattie_

_Don't know what to do."_

Rather than taking offense, Sir Nicholas and the rest could only hover dumbfounded as Peeves continued to charm the proverbial booties off their charge_; _only seeing it necessary to step in, in order to prevent the Poltergeist from giving the babe a large medal -that did in fact turn out to be a glass eye- to suck on.

Upon his return, Dumbledore marveled at the effortless way the House Ghosts seemed to handle the Star, thus dubbing the four -five if you include Peeves- official, and dare I say permanent, Babysitter status. After accepting the praise in stoic silence, Sir Nicholas promptly burst into tears.

* * *

_Chapter Two: The Manifestation of Magic_

_While the limitations of Celestial Magic have yet to be discovered, Stars are, in fact, not as different from Witches and Wizards as one might be inspired to think. Such as the magically inclined children here on Earth, Dao's also manifest their powers at an early age._

* * *

Three Years Later:

"Aaagggiiieeee!"

Rubeus Hagrid started violently out of his dreams; his head lurching forward from his reclined position only to crash face first into a low-flying pot. The forgotten book of Dastardly Dragons; Scourge's of Europe fell from his lap and onto the carpet, a Herbridean Black looked up from the cover, purple eyes flashing through it's curled bat-like wings in annoyance.

"Merlin's beard!" The Game Keeper growled, his sausage like fingers shooting up to massage the welt forming across his furrowed brow. Hagrid glared up at the heavy cast-iron skillet that fluttered in front of him before turning his eyes to the center of his cottage. What he saw there made his whiskered-jaw drop.

"What the'r-?"

"Aggie look, I can make the kitchen dance!" The three year old giggled clapping her hands, blue eyes shimmering in the firelight with glee. Alcyone balanced precariously on the small pockmarked tea table, her dainty feet planted between stacks of enchanted alphabet blocks and a plate of Pumpkin Pastry crumbs. The Sphinx for S block licked her paws in long tongue strokes, while the Griffin for G block lazily eyed a hovering ladle, his tail twitching in boredom. Around the petite lassie, various kitchen utensils, some more hazardous than others, gaily flew about in nonsensical circles.

Hagrid lumbered to his feet from the over-stuffed chair, ducking to avoid a wildly twirling teapot. He muffled a curse when a rolling pin smacked into his shin. A sharp chopping knife sliced dangerously across the front of his trousers, making Hagrid freeze mid-step to catch his breath.

"Blimey, Pigeon, that was a bit close fer comfert." A whimper drew Hagrid's gaze from Alcyone to the shivering mass of fur trying to claw its way, unsuccessfully, under the bed pushed against the wall. Fang's whines grew into frantic yelps when a large fork speared his tail to the floor between two prongs.

Hagrid couldn't help but pity the poor coward. The pup was only a few months old, bigger than an adult Niffler and all ready having to learn to dodge trajectiles in his own home.

Meanwhile, waving her arms like a great conductor, Alcyone laughed, her face glowing silver in the sunlight filtering through the window. Well, it glowed as bright as it could between the smears of chocolate, custard creme, remnants of treacle toffee. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that there was not one patch of skin left unblemished by some syrupy goo something or other.

Despite his shock, Hagrid couldn't fight the smile threatening to puff his cheeks. Three years ago he stumbled into Albus Dumbledore's office fearful of losing his job only to walk out that same night cradling a squabbling baby Star in his burly arms. He was still a bit foggy on the details. One minute he was trying to explain to the Headmaster that the Giant sized crater in the middle of the grounds was in no way a direct result of his 'new pet,' and the next...

"Hagrid, there is no cause to worry," Dumbledore had spoken with a glimmer in his eye. "I'm well aware that your acquisition from the Forest is not responsible for the... _chip_ in our grounds."

"Bit bigger than a chip in my 'pinion." Grumbled the Grounds Keeper, shuffling his feet.

"It was my understanding that we were looking for a new venue for the Quidditch Pitch?" The Headmaster tilted his head thoughtfully.

"Yes sir. We were think'n it'd be on tha _other_ side of castle-"

"No matter letting a good hole go to waste I always say." Dumbledore cut in with sweep of his hand, those half moon spectacles sparking in the firelight. "Think of it as a head start."

A distinctly feminine and familiar "Hmph," emanated from the doorway.

Standing there dressed in a severe black cloak with an equally severe frown creasing the porcelain of her brow was one Professor of Transfiguration. Her hazel eyes flashed in the firelight, hinting at the Animagus form that lay below the surface. Hagrid stifled the urge to wince in sympathy at the tightness of her bun. Nearly three in the morning, and not a hair out of place. The Game Keeper shook his head.

"You requested my presence, Albus?"

"My dear Miss McGonagll," Dumbledore sighed, "Prompt even at this late of hour."

"Not so late as it is early." Came the bland reply. "I'm assuming this about the 400 foot crater now adorning the lawn."

"As per usual, my dear, nothing escapes your impeccable perception."

Eyes narrowed into slits behind a pair of sensible glasses, bought not for their embellishments -for there were none- but for their practical use. Professor McGonagll stepped further into the room, her lips pursing into a thin, unamused line.

"Albus," she started brusquely, "There are precisely 32 bedraggle and blurry-eyed teachers crowded into the lounge wondering as to why they were jarred from their sleep by an explosion that rocked the entire foundation." She took a deep breath, continuing with her tirade despite the amused gleam in the Headmaster's eyes. "All, including myself, are extremely puzzled, tired, and tempers are flaring. Kettleburn is convinced that the creatures of the Forbidden Forest have finally rallied against us, Filch on the other hand is dead certain that it is nothing more than a group of rambunctious students in need of a good flogging."

"Oh my," Dumbledore murmured not looking the least bit apologetic. "Filch, I trust, was informed that students will not begin arriving till next week for the start of the school term?"

"Naturally," Minerva stated looking more than a bit affronted. "But you as well as I know Filch, once he gets a good flogging in mind..." She trailed off with a non-committal shrug. "Oh," She seemed to brighten in a moment of recollection. "The newly appointed Miss Pomfrey was able to administer her first Sedation Spell."

"Nothing to serious I hope." The Headmaster pressed, noticing how attentive Rubeus became at the mention of the young -and attractive- Medi-Wizard now in charge of the Hospital wing.

"Madame Pince burst into the lounge shortly after we began to amass, screeching that her Library was in utter ruin with no earthly hopes of ever being restored. She was working herself into a fit of apoplexy. So without preamble, Miss Pomfrey calmly walked up and put her wand to the Librarians head."

"And is it?"

"Is what?" Minerva snapped testily. Dumbledore's inquisitive nature was starting to grate her normally very collected nerves. Somewhere in the fracas she'd misplaced her favorite nightcap and based on the Headmaster's incessant evasion as to why she was _really_ in his office at 3:30 in the morning, aggravation was beginning to churn within her.

"Is the Library in utter shambles, my dear?" Seemingly unaffected by the Transfiguration Professors growing ire.

"Shelves have tipped over spilling books into haphazard piles. Thank goodness most of them stayed closed. Unfortunately a weather bending tome did flip open in the fray, and there now appears to be a Hurricane roaring through the biography section. Other than that, a flock of avian books is missing from magical creatures, but Slughorn is certain they'll come down from the rafters after the storm settles."

"Ah well, nothing a bit of well placed Reparos' and Drought Charms for the excess water can't fix." Dumbledore turned away going over to a tall pair of lofty French inspired windows added to the office courtesy Headmaster Eoessa Sakdenberg whose portrait required multiple moves a week to enjoy various angles of the outside world. He watched Hagrid in the windows reflection as the half-giant tried to turn as carefully as his size could allow, and yet still manage to catch a highly expensive artifact from Albania on the corner of his coat, knocking it over -with a not so polite curse- and breaking it irrevocably. Minerva on the other hand stood rigidly at her post by the door, letting what was left of her patience boil away with each passing moment.

"Hagrid." Dumbledore called, pulling the Gamekeepers attention away from the artifact he was subtly trying to shove back together, before tossing the broken fragments behind a pile of Daily Prophets. Out of guilty sight out of guilty mind.

"Yes sir, Professor sir." Hagrid stumbled, his beady gaze fixated on the Headmasters back from beneath twin bushy eyebrows.

"There is a package of up most importance on the desk that I need for you to take to the seventh floor corridor." He curled his fingers thoughtfully through the tip of his snowy beard.

"T-the Seventh Floor Corridor, sir?" Hagrid's face pinched with perplexity.

"Quite so," Dumbledore turned from the window with a swish of his long purple robes, the silver embroidered Ankh's catching the firelight in a daze of color. "I sent Dixie, my house elf, up there earlier before you arrived, to make all the necessary arrangements. All you have to do is deliver her."

"_Her_?" Both McGonagall and Hagrid exclaimed simultaneously in sheer bafflement.

"Quite so." The Headmaster smiled as he waved away the Concealment Charm hovering over his desk with a flick of his wand, revealing the bassinet still rocking in a soothing rhythm. Tucking the wand back into his robes Dumbledore reached down and plucked forth a bundle dripping with lace and silk, the edges of the garments crispy and blackened with soot.

McGonagall stiffled a gasp behind her fingers, her eyes widening as she took in the obvious signs of a Fallen Dao. Her eyes glimmered as they lifted to meet the crinkling smile of Dumbledore's gaze.

"Albus, what...how..."

"Speechless, my dear?" Dumbledore lifted a brow, "I must remember this for when you start in on the Professional Quidditich Standings." The Animagus felt her cheeks heat up. It was common knowledge that Professional Quidditch was her Achilles Heel. An Achilles Heel she just happened to give long passionate lectures about when one did not share her opinion. This year her Galleons were on the Ballycastle Bats, the team barely missed the finals last year due to a late season broom mishap. If only their Seeker McCraig could get her catch time down to a ten minute average...Her mind was pulled away from player stats when she heard the Headmaster chuckle.

"Albus you can't just keep he-" Minerva began, her tone breathless with underlying panic.

"All in good time, my dear." The discoverer of the twelve uses of dragon's blood gave her a pointed glance over his half moon lenses before turning to the pale countenance of Hagrid. The half-giant looked liked he was just caught on the wrong end of a Fire Crab. He countered every one of Dumbledore's steps forward with a step -exceptionally larger- step backward, his eyes never leaving the tiny, fragile looking bunch of breakable baby in the headmaster's arms.

"Now Hagrid, don't tell me you're afraid?" The elder wizard questioned with undisguised mirth. "Why just the other day you were telling me how nice it would be to own your very own pet dragon."

The Gameskeeper began to sputter.

"Dragons, sir, areah lot less..erm...squishy..." Hagrid felt his back hit a bookshelf, wincing as a couple large volumes -and a few more artifacts of the priceless variety- hit the ground around him at the impact of three hundred pounds plus of half-giant pulling up short. And yet Dumbledore kept approaching, a mocking glimmer in those knowing blue eyes.

"Hold out your hands Rubeus."

Hagrid lasted all of fifteen seconds under the pressure of that gaze before lowering his head in defeat, wiping his hands on the front of his coat, holding out his arms and closing his eyes.

He felt the flutter of fabric snagging the callous of his palms when Albus said,

"Open your eyes my friend."

Slitting his beetle orbs wider little by little, Hagrid's vision blurringly revealed and focused on the tiniest most delicate whisp of light he'd ever seen. And it was laying in his grubby, dirt-crusted, scarred hands.

"Cradle her head a bit more," The titled 'Greatest Wizard of our Times' cooed encouragingly. "There, yes. That's it. Marvelous!" Albus clapped softly as McGonagall visibly turned a darker shade of puce. His eyes never leaving the slumbering babe, Dumbledore added,

"You can breathe now, my dear. Hagrid won't let her fall. Will you?"

The bushy-bearded man shook his head firmly, his own eyes unable to look away from the dreamily smooth face, plump cheeks, golden curls feathering out from beneath an impossibly small cap.

"She's no' heavier thanah Doxy." Hagrid stated in soft wonder, bringing the babe closer to his thick leather duster of treated dragon hide -a gift from a certain Headmaster upon the eve of his first day as GameKeeper.-

"That she is not, Rubeus. But she is more rare and more precious than any other thing on this Earth." Dumbledore stated lowly. "The Seventh Floor corridor, end of the hall." Albus reminded the half-giant with a pat on the meaty, rock-hard shoulder that he had to reach up to contact.

To preoccupied with his new cargo, Hagrid didn't hear the office door softly click closed behind him. Nor did he recall working his way through the maze of moving staircases to get to the Seventh Floor. But what he did remember, the memory that stayed with him that no amount of Obliviate's could erase; was the moment blue eyes lazily slid open and gazed up at his scraggly face from the cradle of his arms...and smiled. Everything after that point on until he got back to his cabin was a blur, but not due to a memory malfunction, but rather the tears of joy pouring from those beetle black of his eyes.

...Hagrid was literally knocked out of his visions from his past when a mug the size of his fist smashed into the back of his head, lurching him forward. The Gamekeeper shook off the dizzying after effects and began to -again- weave his way through flying kitchen shrapnel to his goal; that bright-eyed goo covered-Dao giggling like mad and glowing with the happiness that a thousand smiles couldn't began to touch.

"Allie," Hagrid crooned, his arms opening to scoop up his 'Pigeon' into a bear hug. Alcyone squealed in delight, seeing the childish glee in a new game, as she jumped off the coffee table and out the cabin door. "Allie!" Hagrid barreled after the Dao, watching in horror as she scrambled up the hill and back to the castle, sending birds into the sky and toads out of her path.

"Blimey," He muttered, trying to quicken his gait. "If McGonagall catches 'er cover'd in all those sweets, I'm dun fer!"

* * *

_Chapter Two: The Manifestation of Magic (continued) _

_ Eldwarld Fermout Deputy Delegate and Lead Luminary Researcher on Ethereal Genetic Augmentation describes the development of magic in Dao's as the sprouting of a seed. _

_'My fellow scientists and I have made numerous fascinating discoveries since the relations between the Stars and our Wizarding World opened to more congenial terms. The passing and sharing of research has furthered our studies. What would have once taken us decades in experimentation and analysis we can now accurately conclude and publish with confidence in mere months. For example, through various levels of trial and error, I and others agree that there are 4 basic ingredients to the successful development of a Dao's powers. _

_In publications we liken this growth to a seed. In order to ensure the most healthy of plants one must first choose a plot of land; an environment conversant to that particular bud. That is the first ingredient, environment. The second and third are both vital and necessary and directly linked to the strength of the seed in question. Water and Sunlight. Of course these are not literal but rather metaphors for Love and Happiness. Where as Wizarding children utilized all extreme feelings ranging from Love to Hate, Dao's can only gain power through positive stimuli. In fact, when bombarded with negative stimuli, we see a regression of power, an agent of suppression of some sort. Now the fourth requirement is key; the seed itself. Imagine a forest, if you will. The forest floor is a carpet for a wide variety of pods. Some grow into mere weeds, others blooming flowers. There are also bushes and saplings, ferns and ivy. Then there are some that, if giving the right encouragement grow into even greater examples; Willows, Evergreens, Silver Maples._

_But beyond that there is a select few, a mere handful every generation that has the potential to grow into mighty Oaks, towering Redwoods. Trees that very nearly touch the heavens, they are so great in strength. Not much is known about these rare creatures, for though stronger our relationship with the Stars is, it is still in the early stages of trust. And they seem to be very tight-lipped when it comes to existence of our fabled Redwoods and Oaks. Even more so with the limitations of what power they could possess.' _

* * *

**A/N:** Holy Carp! I literally stayed up all night writing that, so I hope you guys appreciate my effort. I'm sorry for the jumpiness for the chapter, but it's how I feel like I'm incorporating everything that I want to. In these first few chapters you will see people who probably shouldn't be here, people not really in the right time-line (but close hopefully), people who don't exactly play vital rolls, but significant ones none-the-less, and others I completely throw in at my creative whimsy. I plan on this being a long story, with what I hope will be a nicely developed plot line possessing a little something maybe even you guys haven't seen.

Also I welcome any and all reviews, Flames included, because I feel criticism is just another stepping stone to better writing.

Not all chapters will be this long. Seriously, I have to sleep sometime! Any ways, thanks to those who read this far, hoping to read some

REVIEWS!


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